Washout
by Nigel Yearning
Summary: 2 of 10. She was a retired police officer. She had the look. She also claimed to be her maternal aunt, which she doesn't doubt, but made her curious. What was this Possum Springs, and should she even care about finding anything there? Only one way to find out. Oneshot.


_9 July 2038_

Two more people rushed into the café. The staff member slammed the door shut and locked it. Wind and rain battered the glass door like a rabid dog clawing its way in. More raincoats and umbrellas thrown into the pile. More customers to serve. Some people decided to go for seconds. Coffee, frappuccinos, and other goodies were served. Digital dollars and consumables were exchanged.

Borow yawned and sipped her frap. Decaf chocolate mocha. Large-sized with honey. The best stuff.

Her eyes grew heavy again. Twice she had to force herself awake, but that table seemed to be a head magnet. So she propped herself against the glass and stared out into the rain, watching it do its dance in the wind. A few hailstones had fallen from the vortex above as the supercell continued its way over the Bright Harbor area. Another staff member turned on a TV. Every single channel save for the local and national news outlets were locked down under the emergency alert system. _Severe thunderstorm warning, _it said. _Tornado watch, _it said.

She sipped her frap. _Sure, _she thought. _Let me know when we're about to be whisk away to Oz so I have time to have my last joint._

Borow had seen the storm coming and had the thought of taking shelter in the café. Plenty of food. Plenty of drinks. The couches were soft enough. Problem was the whole place was crowded and she hated crowds. All of them were young, a quarter of which looked a bit queer. Byproducts of Millennials. Byproducts of Gen Z. Back then they used to pair up furry animals with their own kind. Cat for cat. Dog for dog. Fox for fox. Bear for bear. All of which were flat out straight with male and female pairing. Now they were all mixed up. Sexuality was all over the place. Everything was complicated. She tried not to be complicated herself. No need to be picky. No need to complain about anything. This world was built for them. Not for her.

No matter. Reality is just a _carapace_ for brand new ideas.

Borow had her own set of electronics plugged into a surge suppressor which she had plugged into the wall. Her tactical flashlight, her tablet, and her weather radio were all hooked up and ready to go. Borow had just gotten done fiddling around with her windproof lighter. She changed out the wick and flint and refilled the inside unit, then wrapped a new spool of hemp wick around the base. This was her gear. Her tools to get by through the strange new world. Her knife already sharpened. Her multi-tool and pocket knife oiled and sharpened. For a 40 year old woman who had no permanent address or job she had her priorities in order.

Someone emerged from the street, rushing in with a raincoat. The speed caught her eye. The cloaked runner was a little too slow. Someone older than her judging by the limb movement. Borow closed her lighter up. And she thought she was driving up the age average.

The rabbit staff member got the door open and let the runner in. The hood flew off. Borow raised an eyebrow. The runner was an old, weathered cat woman. Graying fur, pudgey looking. She had to be in her sixties, maybe going onto seventy. Yet she didn't let that slowed her down one bit.

While everyone piled their ponchos in a giant steaming pile, she hung hers on the unused coat rack. The old woman crept up to the counter and ordered something, handing over paper cash. The drink came. A hot, steaming beverage. Sure, it was cold out there with the rain but that won't last long. The heat would come back, and with it even more heat. A brain cell sparked in Borow's temple. _Be ready to bail, _she thought.

She switched off her surge suppressor and began unplugging all of her electronics, then packed them away back in her backpack.

The woman had her drink in her hand when she turned around and her eyes met Borow. Those soft, weathered eyes bulged. Borow gritted her teeth. She knew that look, recognition, and she didn't even know her.

And of course the old woman decided to sit right down across the table from her. Borow sat up and placed both fists on the table, balling them tight.

"Mae, is that you?"

Borow said nothing. This was the second time this month someone recognized her. Was she another resident from the old Possum Springs? Why wouldn't she be? Someone that old and with history was bound to know people, and it looked like she knew her. Borow stared at the old cat's eyebrows. Her features looked familiar. A little too familiar.

"It is you, isn't it? I know that stare a hundred yards away. It's been years, decades. I just can't believe it."

The first time Borow jumped the gun. Pinned an old friend that she hadn't remembered against the ground and interrogated him like a hardened criminal. Borow held her ground. This older woman had a lot more history than that wrecked fox. How to approach this?

Better give her a benefit of a doubt.

"You might've confused me for somebody else."

The old cat woman said, "I know it's you, Mae. Those notches in your ear, they were from you getting attacked by a dog when you were eight, and that red tuff of fur over your head is unmistakable too. It's you, alright."

Borow said nothing. _Give nothing, deny everything._

Molly said, "Well, I'm not surprised you're happy to see me after all this time."

Bad history. Toxic history? Who was she?

"I'm not happy because one, I don't know you, and two, nobody knows me by that name. Ever."

"Mae, I'm your Aunt Molly. How could you not remember me?"

Borow leaned back. "Maybe you're mistaken. Maybe you confused a doppelganger of mine. Then again, it's not as likely as it used to back in the day."

Her eyes were darting back and forth. Might be her brain screaming, _"Does not compute!" _This Molly seemed to remember her, but it was clear she was expecting a different reaction. That established, Borow had her where she wanted. On her own terms. However, what did Molly for her?

"You have changed a lot, and yet you look almost like the day I last saw you."

"What were you expecting?"

"I thought you would be bitter to see me."

"Bitter about what?"

"I was a police officer at Possum Springs. Your hometown. I would on occasion bring you home at night because you were trespassing, climbing over things."

Police officer. Well that just complicate things. She just used her wild card. Mae thought for a brief second. She had an idea.

"You're sure about that?"

"What do you mean? You were climbing over power lines and breaking things."

Borow placed one hand underneath the table. She then used the other to reach for a mint from one of the trays. She placed it right on the table in front of Molly and then folded her hands. "Try to grab that."

"What?"

"Try to grab the mint as fast as you can, like swat it like a bug or used both hands. Whatever gets the job done."

"Um, okay."

Molly raised one hand and slapped it over the mint. She grimaced, spreading out her fingers. Molly pulled her hand up. The mint was gone.

Borow held up said mint in question, pinching it between her thumb and index finger.

Molly froze.

Wild card.

"If that was me who you found in the middle of any of those nights, you would not have gotten your hands on me or put me in a position to arrest me. In fact you wouldn't even get a chance to see me. I would be long gone by the time you figured out I was nearby."

"You were more sloppy than your friends. I know you!"

Borow chuckled, she reached under the table and placed a revolver on the table. It was a .38, an old service revolver. Molly jumped and patted where she kept her gun.

Ace in the hole.

"How did you-"

"The Mae I'm hearing sounds like she plays games, but I do not. So I want you to explain to me, and either confirm or disfirm the fox's story about Possum Springs being destroyed by that tornado. I'm sure you know which fox friend I'm talking about."

Molly sat there, staring at her own gun on the table. All around her the patrons kept on their business. Chatting, munching. Unaware that she had just disarmed somebody from under their nose.

"Well, I'm waiting. I'm sure you know the fox's name. According to him, I spend a lot of time with him doing mischief."

"Gregg, I think his name was Gregg Lee."

"What was the damage rating of the tornado?"

"EF5."

"State of the house that got destroyed?"

"Totaled, on fire."

"Fatalities?"

Molly said, "Both your parents."

Borow thumbed the release latch and opened up the cylinder. "You know, it is illegal to have a loaded firearm within the city limits. Concealed carry or not. In fact, having this kind of firearm is illegal. No safety and no built-in mechanism for a cooldown period. You can thank the trash for gutting the second amendment."

"I've been in law enforcement for fifty years, Mae. I kept that privilege."

"Not quite within the cities. The concentration of liberals here are so blue that they're purple. You've seen the voting map, right? Pockets of liberals lining the cities and coastlines. Everywhere else is nothing but a handful of hardline conservatives. Used to be moderates on both sides, now they're all one-sided and this whole country fell onto permanent control of a jackass while the elephant gets the boot."

"What has that have to do with anything?"  
Borow said, "You've been shot on duty, near-fatal wound. You retired, but kept the gun. You may think that being a woman would keep you safe from bias, but the newer generations are more gender neutral. Neutral my ass. Everything is becoming more balanced now, and it is just as hard on you as it is for me, but for different reasons."

She slid the gun back to Molly. "I'm guessing the town has never been rebuilt."

Molly took the gun and tucked it away. "No, underground coal fire broke out west of the town. The government bought out the land and relocated everyone. Only a few handful of people stayed but they live outside of town. Where were you when all this happened, by the way? You were at college, right? I tried contacting you at your college but they told me you checked out of your dorm."

Borow said nothing.

"You don't live anywhere?"

"No."

"You're living on the street or something?"

"No."

"No job?"

"Self-employed."

"But did you finish college?"

"Kind of."

"What degrees did you get?"

"Just the degrees that would help me do what I do, which is, staying on the move."

"You drive?"

"Yes, I do. Come to think of it, why are you asking me all these questions?"

Molly frowned. "'Cause you're the only family I have left, Mae. Your parents couldn't afford a proper burial, so they had to be cremated. I was there and you were nowhere to be found. You know that-"

Molly gasped and placed her hand on her side, she hunched and seized. Borow bit her lip. The old cat took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

"You're alright, Molly?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just an old injury."

"What happened?"

"Some crackhead about seven years ago."

"They caught the guy?"

"He was shot to death by police, took a lot of ammo to do it. The parents got bitchy and went to the papers. That was a lot of bad press for the Bright Harbor Police Department. Police brutality, oh my god! The guy was a crackhead and the paper was just wanting the drama for more views. It was a poorly written article to begin with. At least it didn't get onto the national news."

Borow said, "Was the crackhead's name, Earl Johnson?"

Molly said, "Yeah, that's his name. Why?"

"I dated his brother, Cletus."

"Shit."

"I can tell you that Earl was a piece of shit, but his parents were even worse. Earl had been abused when he was young, rectal bloody abused. Cletus spun out of that only because I helped him out, or else he would've perished like his brother. That was ten years ago."

"Holy shit."

"Small world, I know."

"How is he now?"

Borow said, "Doing way better than he used to. His parents are no more. Father self-destructed after murdering the mother. He now has a wife and four kids. High-paying job, kids are treated right. Things are good on his front."

She glanced out the window, the rain was just subsiding. Borow sipped her frap one last time. Molly clutched her side, holding on until the pain subsides, and then she sipped her hot drink. "Some days it's just hard to breathe. When the bastard shot me, my lung collapsed."

Borow asked, "You walked from here?"

"I did."

Borow got up and took her hand. "Here, let me take you home. You're going to hack your lungs out if you try to walk like that again."

Molly clasped her hand tight. Borow then hooked her aunt by her right armpit and pulled her back up onto her feet. "I think that was the first act of kindness you ever showed for me."

**. . .**

Molly leaned back in the Tahoe's front passenger seat. Stress had drained her hard. The old cat wouldn't gotten a quarter of the way there before falling over herself. "Nice Tahoe. You said you live out of it?"

"Yup," Borow said. "It's thirty years old and paid off. Everything on it is customized or rebuilt."

Molly pointed to the dash. "What's all that radio equipment for?"

The HAM radio was built within the cubby hole of the dashboard. With it was the police scanner. Both of whom used daily. "For when I need to keep up to date while on the move. I travel all over the country."

Molly ran her hand down Molly's arm. "How did you get those scars?"

Thick long scars run up across her tricep, down to her elbows, and around her forearms. Borow nudged Molly's hand away. "It's a long story."

Borow didn't have to drive her far. Molly lived in an apartment just down the street. It was a gated community. Looked pretty well off. Had to be older upper middle class people judging by all the occupied handicap parking spots. The security guard was a middle-aged dog who seemed as bored out of his mind as Borow was earlier. Molly pulled out her State ID and handed it to her, to which she handed off to the security guard. The guard took one look at it, then handed back to Borow. The gate buzzed open and she drove on through.

She parked rear first into the spot closest to Molly's apartment, then killed the engine and got out.

"Your pension is paying off the rent?" Borow asked as she helped Molly out of the Tahoe.

"And then some," Molly said.

Molly guided Borow to her apartment. She lived on the first floor around the back. Molly unlocked the door and pushed it in. It was a simplified conjoined kitchen and living room. Smaller than Gregg's house, yet cleaner, albeit blander. There was a recliner propped toward the TV screen along with a small couch. Borow guided her aunt to the chair where she sat down.

"How old are you now, Mae?"

"41."

"You sure take care of yourself. You look almost like the day I last saw you."

Borow sat down on the couch. Molly leaned back and sighed. "Twenty years, Mae. Had your parents survived they wouldn't stop till they found you."

Borow said nothing.

"Are you still not convinced?"

"I can't remember much before my twenty-first birthday."

"What happened?"

"Don't know. Don't remember."

"You remember Possum Springs?"

"I remember a basic education. I still remember my own social security number. I still remember the country and year and such. But I don't remember that town."

"It used to be a mining town. It even had a glass factory, except, all that closed down in the 80's, and then the town got hit by the tornado," Molly closed her eyes. "So many sinkholes and fires. The only structure that survived was the old trolley tunnel. The state filled the entrance up with concrete to keep people out."

"Trolley tunnel?"

"Used to ferry miners to the coal mines. The tracks were taken out of service but the station was kept open since there was a snack restaurant down there. If I recall you stole some pretzels down there once."

"Those pretzels must be really good."

"They were," then Molly said, "but that's all history now."

Gregg's image flashed in Borow's mind. The old fox with his one eye, lying face down on his pillow, sleeping off another hard night. "Gregg said about someone named Jeremy Warton. Heard about him?"

"Only by name, but I never met him. I do recall the Warton family lives somewhere outside of town. They were untouched by the storm. They were the only family that stuck around along with a handful of cabins."

Borow said, "Might as well go pay him a visit. Where's Possum Springs located?"

"You're serious? It's a two hour drive."

"I'm serious, because why wouldn't I?"

"You don't sound serious."

Borow pinched the bridge of her nose. "As it stands, I don't like any of it, but I have to know."

"I'm not forcing you to-"

"I have to know."

Molly sighed. "Take the highway out of Bright Harbor and keep on going until you reach Deep Hollow County, and then take the first exit you see. But I must warn you, the whole town perimeter is off-limits."

"Off-limits?"

"Underground fire, Mae. It's still burning even after twenty years. Last I heard it caused sinkholes to open up, making the place far more dangerous. The whole place is filled with soot and chemicals from the old mines. There is no way you can get to the town directly. The state had demolished the bridges to the town and fenced off everything else. If you want to find the Warton's Homestead, you'll need to drive around the whole town and find a back road to them." Then Molly said, "Of course, knowing you, you're going to stick where your nose don't belong."

"Urban exploration had always been built into my DNA."

"It's toxic, Mae."

"I have the gear for it. It's not my first rodeo."

Molly sucked in her lips. "Back then I wouldn't let you pull a stunt like this, but it was your home. Are you sure you want to do this?"

Borow turned toward the door. "I'll think about it, but first I need to do something."

**. . .**

Borow stepped out into the parking lot and lit a joint. This was the second time in a week that someone from a long-gone past recognized her. What were the chances that an estranged relo recognized her? A little more information had been dug up. Another puzzle fell into place. And the next piece just confirmed that whatever history she had lost didn't sound too good.

She took a puff of the joint, held it in, then exhaled. "I could just walk away. No reason why I should be looking into this. Let the past be buried, yet if it stays buried, it will continue to haunt me." She held that thought for a moment. "It all feels wrong for some reason."

Wrong, as if it was a rough childhood. A childhood not worth remembering. And yet those ghosts are coming back to haunt her. If there are more people in Bright Harbor who used to know her personally, they will bring this up.

Borow stubbed out her joint and threw it in the trash can. Well, might as well see if there was ever a town that used to exist. No harm with a benefit of a doubt.

She first went to the local store and bought some canned goods, rations, and snacks. She didn't buy much. The plan was three days max. Borow would leave the canned goods in the Tahoe while she packed her snacks into her backpack. She then went to the hardware store where she bought P-100 filter cartridges. It was close to a hundred dollars. Not cheap. Nothing had been cheap in years.

Borow then sat down in the driver seat of her Tahoe and pulled out the map of the whole state. The highway to the West stretched all the way into the interior right out of Bright Harbor county. Deep Hollow as just five counties down. The nearest major interstate was three counties away. Borow marked down a search area on the map with the pencil, then packed the map away.

"Much easier if I just looked it up online," she said out loud. "Only one place to go for sure."

Borow drove off to the Bright Harbor library. A large, vibrant building that stood for half a century. Old and new architecture and infrastructure glued the library together. A powerhouse for information. If the internet couldn't provide, the library would no doubt fill in what she need. She parked the car by the side and got out, then stepped on in through the doors. The place was packed with people. Young and middle age with a handful of old people. Borow scanned the lobby. She had been here multiple times to research out-of-state trips. If memory comes to serve, the maps section should be upstairs. Out of the way. Alone.

Borow took the stairs up. The maps were there alright. Racks of maps span the whole corner of the library. Of all the libraries she had been at. Every library has at least a map of the whole state in their collection. Why wouldn't they? Neighboring and far away states are rare, but not the home state. Borow skimmed through the lettering and checked the maps. She found the home state and pulled out the tray. On top was the whole state. Bright Harbor. Deep Hollow. She pulled one layer off, revealing the topography map. Borow pulled out the topography map and spread it out on a table, then scanned the area where Deep Hollow was.

Too large of an area to get the finer details, but it gave her a good sense on what the geography was like. However, the map was no good. It was 60 years old. It hadn't been updated since then.

Borow packed the map back into its tray and closed it. "Damn it, it's a waste of time."

"Hey, are you alright?"

An orange tabby-looking cat walked up to her. She was short as her, but thick and bulbous. The cat wore a simple green shirt and brown pants. She had a brown canvas bag on her back. Judging by the style she seemed to be a writer.

Borow raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You look like you were looking for something, but couldn't find it."

"I suppose. I was looking for a map."

The cat held out a plush hand. "Name's Carrie."

Borow shook it. "Borow, you work here?"

"No, I'm just doing research on an assignment I'm working on."

"College?"

"No, I work for the Bright Harbor Daily."

"A journalist?"

"Yup, what are you looking for?"

Borow said, "I was searching for a map of Deep Hollow County, I'm looking for the section where Possum Springs used to be."

"Possum Springs? That mining town that was destroyed by an EF5 tornado?"

"You're familiar with it?"

"I was ten when it happened. It was all over the news."

Borow wrinkled her nose. There was something about her she couldn't place. Something that seemed familiar, and yet, gentle. Maybe she can offer some help.

"So it was," Borow said. "I'm looking into visiting, but I would like to see a map of the area."

One of Carrie's ear twitched. "I think I can help you there. Here, follow me."

Carrie walked around the cabinets to another row of shelves. She walked with a bit of a waddle. Borow stayed behind. She knew what she was doing. Way more competent than those Gen Ys in that coffee shop. _Why am I starting to like her all of a sudden?_

"Here," Carrie said. She crouched and opened up a tray at the bottom. "The library keeps records of all of the mining towns in the state, including Possum Springs. They do that because there were resources to be mined in those lands. Prospectors figure out what minerals lie there so the miners can dig them up."

Borow eyed Carrie's rear end, watching her tail sway back and forth. Quite a pretty tail she had there. Long too. "Is there any topographic maps?"

"They're all topographic maps."

"I see."

Carrie pulled out the map from the tray. "Okay, here it is. Let's take a look."

She took the map over to the podium and spread it out on the surface, then turned on the light panel. The whole map lit up like an x ray scan on a display board. "Well, here it is, Borow. Possum Springs and the surrounding area. It's almost 50 years old but I think you can't get any better than this."

The whole map wasn't yellowing, but it had the typewriter, roller-printed feel. Not only did the map had contour lines but it also had colored areas for coal and copper deposits. Borow eyed the contour lines as Carrie hovered by. She sucked in her lips. A lot of the coal deposit was close to the town line, but most of it was west of the town itself. She traced her finger across the contour lines, counting the numbers. "It's in a fucking flood plain."

Carrie said, "It was built in the eighteenth century."

Borow said nothing.

"Are you alright, B?"

"No."

"What's wrong?"

Borow turned around and pinched her nose. "I can't remember the first twenty years of my life. That's what's wrong. What makes it worse is that the more info I uncover, the more bleak the picture becomes. I already have bitter feelings over meeting my long-lost aunt. I'm risking my well-being by visiting a toxic remnant of a town for grief."

Carrie blinked. "So you don't want to go?"

"I don't, but I have to."

"Why?"

"Because I have ghosts to bury. Because I have an aunt who is insisting I'm somebody of who I'm not. Because I have old friends who-"

Carrie placed both hands on Borow's shoulders. "There, there, Borow. Don't get yourself worked up."

Her voice was smooth and cool as butter. She might've been trained as a therapist at some point. Borow held her breath and stepped back. "I'm sorry, I'm just pissed from it all. I try my best not to blow up like that."

"I've seen it a few times before."

"Look, I need to go. Thanks for helping me."

"My apartment is just down the street from the library in case you want to stop by. Number is 106."

"I'm bound to spend my time in the local coffee shop and the library, but I am usually elsewhere."

Carrie shook Borow's hand. "Good talking to you. Hope to see you again soon!"

"You too, I'll be sure to stop by once I'm finished poking around Deep Hollow."

Borow pulled out her tablet and took a picture of the whole map, then picked it back up.

"Leave it in that tray on the cabinet," Carrie said. "The librarians will file it away at the end of the day."

"Sure. Thanks, Carrie."

Carrie went off to the reference section as Borow went off to the printers. She printed out the map, made sure it took up the pages she needed before hitting the print button. As she watched the sheets print Borow's thoughts turned back toward Carrie. There was something about her alright. Not special, but something perfect. She couldn't place her finger on it.

Come to think of it, Carrie was the only person she had met that she hadn't been aggressive to, or tried to manipulate either.

"Strange little furball," Borow said to herself. "I like her. I wonder what her last name is."

**. . .**

The interstate out of Bright Harbor was cramped and crowded. Every single car drove 70 in a 55 mile-per-hour zone. It wasn't until Borow took the off-ramp onto a four-lane highway where the traffic dropped to a handful of cars. The way was straight and true. Borow leaned back, loosening her grip on the steering wheel.

The police radar detector went off.

She slowed the vehicle down to 55.

A county sheriff squad car sat in the emergency crossing. Borow drove past it. The deputy didn't budge.

There hadn't been anymore law enforcement vehicles after she crossed the county line. She turned on the radio and tuned it to the local NPR station. The host was giving some commentary on national politics again. Sunburnt states were seeing their water prices going up. Coastal states are seeing protest over the right to collect rainwater. Rural areas are becoming desolated. Cities are becoming overpopulated. Blah, blah, blah.

Borow reached over and grabbed a pop from the cooler. She cracked it open and downed a fizz full of sugar, savering the chemical burn.

Buildings lined both sides of the highway until she reached the county line. There the buildings tapered off to trees and billboards. Plots of vast farm fields sprawled up. Borow gazed out over the horizon. So much open land. So many mysteries to discover.

It took two and a half hours just to reach Deep Hollow County. Borow stopped once at a rest area just to use the bathroom. From there she grabbed a couple of copies of the latest state map. Better start to come up with a plan. It had been twenty years since Possum Springs has been claimed by the Federal Government via imminent domain. How bad was the area? Walled off with fencing? Able to drive down its streets? There was no doubt she would have to get out and walk. That was the plan anyway.

The first thing that stuck out was a rundown factory. It looked hollow. Lifeless. Next there was the gutted remains of a store. The letters, _Ham Panther, _were marked in mold just above the display windows where the neon sign used to be. Borow had come across several stores and drove past multiple towns along the way. This was the first that had an abandoned store.

The exit came up. Borow took the off-ramp and found herself driving down a straight road. The further she drove, the more she began to smell burning rubber. The air became more hazy, brownish. Borow set the AC to recirc and kept going.

It didn't take long for her to reach the road to Possum Springs. Only problem was it had been walled off with concrete barriers, a chain-linked fence, and marked with _Keep Out _signs. One sign was posted in the middle of the barricade.

_Warning - Danger / Underground Mine Fire / Walking or Driving In This Area Could Result in Serious Injury or Death / Dangerous Gases are Present / Ground is Prone to Sudden Collapse_

Borow leaped over the concrete barriers and pressed up against the fence.

A creek stretched across the road. It looked like it used to be a river at some point. There used to be a bridge here. It looked like a giant earth mover machine had scooped out the road and took the bridge with it. Rebar jetted out where the bridge used to connect to the road, sticking out like bones from an open fracture. She couldn't make out anything beyond besides the mud-filled cracks that covered the road.

"Guess I'm not driving that way," Borow told herself.

She turned around and surveyed the area around her. There was a vine-covered sign by her side of the road. Borow walked up to it and pulled some of the vines off of it. _Possum Springs, _it read. _You're not lost, you're here!_

Borow pinched her nose. The oil smell was overtaking her sinuses. She jogged back to her Tahoe and hopped inside. It was like she snorted melting rubber. The smell permeated the inside of her nasal cavity. Either this was what coal fires smell like or there was something else burning in the mix. She spun around, looking out over the road back to the highway where. Coming down the road was a police interceptor. Deep Hollow County Sheriff. Borow climbed over the barrier as the interceptor came to a stop.

A brown bear stepped out. His body was just a thick wall of muscle. Tall, and trained. He had to be in the army at one point. Military police. Borow had read up on how the US Army employees big and tall guys to act as their police force for the military. Whoever he used to be was the officer's past life. The only question was: is the officer a Sherrif's deputy or the Sheriff himself?

Borow said, "Just when I have questions, someone with answers decides to drive by."

"Not too many people come around these days." The bear held out his hand. "Sheriff Garfield."

Borow took his hand. "Borow."

Sheriff Garfield asked, "Excuse me, but did you use to live here in this old town?"

"Long time ago. Know of a Possum Springs police officer named Molly?"

Garfield scratched his chin. "I used to work with her in the police department. Wait, you're her niece, Mae Borowski?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Have you seen her recently?"

"She's living in Bright Harbor, retired. She told me about what happened here, about the tornado and the coal fire."

Garfield said, "I was there when we were pulling bodies out of the rubble. I'm sorry what happened to your parents."

"Don't be, I almost died myself during that time and now I don't remember anything before my 21st birthday."

"We all wondered what happened to you. Molly tried to track you down at the university, but you just upped and disappeared."

"I was in Bright Harbor by the time things have cooled down. I was building up a new life. I didn't care what became of the old until I bumped into Molly."

"How did she take into seeing you after twenty years?"

"She's already in a fragile state when I found her. I had to drive her back to her apartment because she had a coughing fit."

Garfield said, "Lot of the old residents are sick with something."

Borow walked up to the barrier and up to one of the signs. "So how bad's the coal fire now?"

"It's gotten worse."

"Worse?"

Garfield stretched out his arms. "When the company closed down the mines back in the '80s, there were still a lot of coal still left untapped. The fire's been burning new veins underneath the town. The state and Federal government had to come in and evacuate everyone. There were several holdouts around the outskirts of the town limits. Most of them had either passed away or been evicted. Now there are a few loners along with a family.

"The Wartons?"

"Yup, they're still living here. Old friends of yours?"

"Friend of a friend. An old childhood friend said that they had an old friend named Jeremy Warton. Everybody calls him Germ. He's still around?"

"He's married and has kids."

Borow asked, "I'm looking forward to drop by. Where's his house?"

Garfield spun his finger in the air. "You'll have to go around the whole town. He lives up north around the other side."

"Alright, thank you for the help."

Garfield eyed her up and down. "I recall stories from Molly that you like to get into all sorts of things back then. Breaking stuff, trespassing."

"Long time ago, totally different person now."

"Well, just so you are aware, there are sinkholes opening up left and right within the county. The foundation where the town used to be built on is predicted to collapse at some point. It's not going to happen all at once, but it will happen. So keep your eye out for sinkholes. You may be outside the city limits but there are still sinkholes from other mines still opening up out here."

"Thanks for the warning."

**. . .**

Borow waited till the Sheriff gotten back into his car. He made a U-turn and drove off. She then gotten back into her Tahoe and closed her eyes. So there is still a police patrol around this area. Better be careful.

She drove back to where she came. This time she took a detour onto a gravel road. Borow followed it along. Trees engulfed the sky as vegetation overtook parts of the gravel. She drove the Tahoe about a mile before she found a large bushy area. Borow drove off the gravel road and into the thicket, then spun it around to where the vehicle was facing the road. Borow sat there in the driver seat and held her breath for a few seconds, then checked the skyline. More smoke. Plenty of it too. This was going to be a fun one.

The first order of business was to eat lunch. She cracked open some vienna sausages and a can of peas. Not the best lunch to have, but the air was too toxic to prep meals outside. Borow left the engine running to keep the AC on. It was going to get pretty hot, perhaps hotter with the underground fire warming the earth.

She then stripped off her clothes and change. The choice of attire was simple. Long pants with knee pads and thick hiking boots along with a black sleeveless shirt. Borow grabbed her wilderness daypack: a black tactical backpack with olive green paracord pull tabs. She stuffed in the extra mask filters and a first aid kit, then fitted the side pocket with oatmeal and breakfast bars. Borow then added in a rain tarp, folding saw and shovel, and the topographic maps of Possum Springs in the bag. She sealed up the maps in thick freezer bags to keep them from getting soaked. They worked every time.

Borow then checked her flashlight, then her windproof lighter, then the ammo for her .22 pistol. Everything was good to go. She stuffed the pistol into its holster and reached for the back door.

"Oh wait, almost forgot."

Borow opened up a cubby and pulled out her full-face painter's mask. It was just a mask she bought at a hardware store. Nothing special about it besides the fact that it works. Had to since she often goes exploring abandoned places and often had to encounter all sort of nasty shit. Borow only used it once when she had to go through a tunnel full of dried birdshit and that was no fun to be in. Well, now it was going to be put to its greatest test yet.

She cleaned the visor on both sides with a microfiber towel, then put the mask on and checked the seal. The whole unit was sealed. She then installed two P-100 filter cartridges into it.

Borow killed the engine and climbed out of the Tahoe. She brought out a camouflage tarp and draped it over the whole vehicle, then hammered down stakes to keep it in place. She kicked some leaves up against the wheels to hide the shine of the rims, then stepped back. Looks like a mound of leaves in the shape of a car. No one wouldn't notice until they are looking straight at it and are within arm's reach. Seems to be good enough. Borow scanned the bushes and the trunks of trees for any signs of people. She saw none. However, she waited for ten minutes just to be sure. The air was hot, the mask was almost foggy, and faint traces of smoke were rising in the air. Borow adjust the straps on her backpack, then put on her fingerless gloves.

"Welcome home, Borow," she told herself. "Welcome to a town forgotten by time. No wonder I never remembered this place."

Turns out the fence stretched along the whole river. The occasional warning sign was mounted on every other post. Borow grabbed the fence and shook it. Seemed sturdy enough. She walked along the fence for a while. There were some rust spots here and there. Was this fence maintained? It had been twenty years since the fence was installed. Had the Deep Hollow County Sheriff posted patrols around this area? Borow checked the gravel road for fresh tracks. None to be found. Perhaps Possum Springs was indeed forgotten.

Borow grabbed onto the fence and climbed up and over, then dropped down on the other side. She then slid down into the creek. There was some water here and there, but the whole river bed was bone dry. Had to be the heat and lack of rain. Borow crouched down and inspected the water. Yeah, that water looked a bit yellow. The coal fire was probably making it acidic. She didn't want to be around when the rainstorm kicks in. She got back up and began climbing the riverbed up into Possum Springs. Borow rolled onto the river edge and got back up, then jogged straight toward the town.

All she found were trees and bushes. Nothing resembling what looked like former civilization. Puffs of smoke were seeping out of the ground. Some parts of the earth felt warm. Borow got further into the zone and came across bleached trees. She pressed her hand against the wood. Bone dry and lifeless. The roots must've been fried a long time ago.

Borow kept an eye on the ground. A sinkhole could open up beneath her feet at any moment, or she could sink into a pre-existing sinkhole and fall straight into the fiery underground below. She found one sinkhole. It was the size of a hot tub, yet it looked like it had been filled in from years of erosion. Now it looked more like a dimple on a golf ball than an actual sinkhole. Borow picked up a stick and stuck it into the mud. It went right in without much effort. She left the stick in place and kept going.

Once Borow got out of the tree line to where she could make out the old glass factory again. Just a ruined silhouette in the hazy sun. She then found what looked like the town itself, or what was left of the town. Trees that were less than twenty years old were sprouting everywhere in a random order. The roads were half-buried in some places. What was exposed was cracked to shit. It was just like what the satellite imagery had shown her. Nature was beginning to reclaim her territory. There were some signs of civilization though. Old power poles were sticking out of the ground. Some of them had snapped and were lying on the side of the former road. There weren't any signs of buildings. The state might've cleaned up the mess made by the tornado. What was left was buried in place. All that was here now were prairie grass and trees.

Borow climbed up a hill. The air became more brownish. Small grits of cinder fell from the sky and stuck to her clothes. She could smell the ash through the mask. This place was toxic and hot. There better be something worth finding here.

"Probably toxic gases seeping out of Hell's asshole."

Borow climbed the hill up the street. Parts of the road had eroded and cracked away. She had to climb up some sections just to get higher. It wasn't fun. There was no wind, which kept the smoke close to the ground. In fact the smoke got thicker the higher she climbed. Visibility dropped to twenty feet. Borow bent her knees and kept her eyes glued to the ground. She stumbled across a crack where smoke spewed out like a fire extinguisher. Borow jogged around it. It felt hotter than a blast furnace.

A concrete wall built into the side of a hill greeted her. Borow could make out what used to be an opening to the underground trolley tunnel. Molly was right. It was sealed up with concrete. Smooth and packed with no gaps. The words, _POSSUM SPRINGS IS DEAD 4EVER, _were spray painted over the wall. Guess the youth had enough with their heritage and threw it into the fire like the rest of the town. Why wouldn't they? No one wants to work in a coal mine anymore and those who do are now dead. Maybe there was a movement to make sure it doesn't come back. That was something Borow would love to see.

Borow walked over the hill and started down again. The smoke was beginning to subside, but not as much. She found the other entrance of the old trolley tunnel on the other side. This one was also sealed up. No graffiti though.

There was a set of stairs going up the hill. Twenty years of rain had buried most of it, but it was still there. Parts of the handlebars had rusted off and lay in pieces on the street below. Borow looked straight up. Good place to get the high ground. Might as well get a lay of the land.

She started up the stairs, staying far from the edge as she could. The stairs didn't go that far up. Borow managed to make it to the top within a few minutes. The air was clearer. She could see far out into the wilderness, but not beyond. Borow scanned the area. There wasn't anything there besides what was left of a parking lot. Mud-covered, cracked, and full of weeds. There was a platform to what seemed to be a foundation. A church no doubt. She could tell by the long corridor going off in the back.

The only thing worth seeing was a statue. It was covered in moss and crud. Looked like some kind of gnome creature. No telling who it was. Someone had chipped off the plaque and left a hole where it used to be.

Borow stared at the statue. Its souless eyes gazed out in a blank, stoney stare. The statue had no memory. Just like her. And like her, the statue didn't care one bit, because it was a statue. Who knows what this statue had seen twenty years ago. Maybe even longer. It saw life, and then the lack thereof.

"Oh statue," she spoke to it. "What are ye secrets?"

No response.

"Dick."

Borow sat down at the steps of the statue. Sweat trailed down her skin and her fur and clothes were covered in cinders. It was tempting to take her mask off just to sip some water, but that smog was still thick. No way she would risk it. There was no telling what else was in the air.

She pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat around the seal of the mask. "I need to get out of here. Too hot, augh."

Borow started down the hill from where she came. She reached the old main street and scanned her surroundings, then started off the other way. In case someone was watching her, they could be waiting by the fence. She was sure that her Tahoe was well hidden. Unless someone was watching her, getting back to her vehicle without being spotted should be a no brainer.

She jogged down the road for a sec, then stopped to adjust the laces on her shoe. Just when she got the laces in a bow, the pavement let out a loud crack. Borow jerked back as a spiderweb of cracks ripped across the road, and then the world caved in below her. She threw her arms and caught the edge of the road. It cracked up and caved in, causing Borow to fall through. The insides of the earth surrounding her as if the Devil was sucking her straight into Hell. Pieces of rebar and long buried infrastructure closed in. She covered her head as she caught a piece of rebar on the side. The impact knocked her further into the hole, giving her more air time before landing on her back.

**. . .**

How long had she'd been lying there? A few minutes? An hour? A day? Time was a fog, but at least she was still breathing. That was what counts. Borow reached up and felt the lining around her mask. The seals and faceshield held. Even better.

The hole was nothing but smoke, and it was hot. The line between the rim of the sinkhole and the sky was faded to shit. Nothing but brown haze. Borow clawed her way up a gravel ramp and found some handholds on the side of the hole. With all of her strength she hoisted herself up and climbed up. The sinkhole wasn't that deep, thank God. Just around eight feet. When she reached the edge of the hole, she propped her foot against an exposed bit of rebar and threw herself out of the hole.

Borow rolled onto her side and breathed. Every muscle in her body screamed at the tendons. That was way too close to call. There could've been a portal to Hell underneath that sinkhole and she would've been cooked alive by pixie imps. Borow sat up and shook the cobwebs loose out of her head. Her senses come back to her.

And she felt something wet against her side. Borow felt her tank top. Her hands came back blood red.

There was a gash about a foot long running down from her right breast to her belt line. Borow inspected the whole gash. It was superficial. Her ribs had taken the blow from the rebar. Otherwise her torso would've been punctured and things would've been a whole lot worse. Yet there was blood, oozing out, staining her clothes.

She opened up her backpack and pulled out a couple of 5x9 gauze pads from her first aid kit and slapped it over the wound. Borow put pressure on it, holding in for three minutes, then fished out some duct tape and pinned the gauze pads in place. "That should hold for now," she thought. "Better get out of here."

Borow jogged over to the creek and slid down the side. The air got a little clearer, giving her more than enough space to see. She had her foot on the other edge when something caught her eye. Further down the creek was a bits and pieces of red-orange cloth. Borow raised an eyebrow. She placed a hand on her .22 and went to investigate.

The pieces of cloth were surrounding what looked like a small pit. Erosion had carved it out, but why? Borow got closer. There, half-buried in the mud, was a mummified body. It must've been there since spring. The body was already rotting when the heat came in. Whatever's left dried up, then soaked, then dried again. A skeleton was showing, no signs of the heart or lungs. But that wasn't what caught her attention.

The head was missing. Judging by the stub of what was left of the neck, it looked like something squeezed it off. Not torn, slashed, or chopped. Squeezed off, because something had gotten around his neck and strangled him until his head popped off.

The wound on her side ached. No time to worry about the body now.

Borow climbed up out of the creek and over the fence. Her skin blazed as fire, her clothes soaked in sweat and blood, and the gash on her side was itching and burning hotter. She pulled off the tarp off her Tahoe, climbed in through the back, and set the A/C to max. Pulling off the respirator felt like peeling the skin off of a banana, unleashing trapped sweat that flowed down her face like Niagra Falls. Borow tossed her backpack onto the passenger seat and drunk half of her water bottle down. She laid down on the floor and breathed.

"It would've been better, ugh, to visit during the colder months."

Borow rested for a minute, then threw open her first aid kit. She tore off her tank top and pulled the bandages off. She first cleaned up the wound with an antiseptic wipe, then used tweezers to pull off every spec of crap she could find. Borow then pulled out her needle and thread. With a steady hand she plunged the needle through her skin and stitched the wound closed. Borow then wiped it clean with a disinfectant wipe, then placed butterfly closures along the strip before taping on a fresh pad of gauze.

She put her first aid kit away and lied down on the Tahoe floor. That was surreal. A headless body. Someone had a run-in with him and killed him. That wasn't even the strange part. It felt familiar, like, she had seen something like the body before.

Squeezed off. Not slashed. Not chopped. Squeezed off. The wounds don't lie.

No matter, it wasn't her problem, and she was sure as hell not going to look into it further. Jeremy Warton first, bullshit later.

Borow put on a fresh tank top, then climbed into the driver seat threw the Tahoe into gear. She drove north up the gravel road. It lead to a paved country road not far from the glass factory and cemetery. Somewhere around here was a road that led to the Warton's. It might've not been marked on the map or maybe it wasn't an official road anymore. The topographic map wasn't clear if there was even a side road that could lead to the farm. Borow pulled over and checked the map for a sec. Sheriff Garfield said he lived north of the old town, but he didn't say if he lived Northeast or Northwest. There was nothing but trees here.

"Where are you, Germ? Are you even still around?"

She kept on driving until she found the road in question, then drove westward until she found the driveway. It took a bit of a drive to stumble into a mailbox with the name, _Warton, _painted on its side.

"That must be the place."

Borow turned onto the driveway and kept on going. The gravel wasn't as overgrown as the asphalt, but was a bit tighter. What she found was a Modern house on top of a hill with a lush cornfield surrounding it. There was a lone well, a barn, with a mixture of solar panels and two wind turbines providing power. Must be an off-the-grid home. A good place to stake down roots and fuck off with nobody to bother them.

The front door opened and a black bird stepped out. He seemed to be in his late thirties or early forties. Two kids, both black birds as well, came rushing out of the cornfield and back into the house. A woman, another black bird, poked her head out from the shrub. Borow swung the Tahoe around to face the street, she killed the engine and started walking toward the house.

The patriarch bird's eyes were tired, yet cool and complacent. He came down from the porch and asked, "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for someone named Jeremy Warton. My age. Nicknamed Germ."

He nodded, "That's me. Who told you about me?"

"An old friend named Gregory Lee."

"Gregg? I hadn't heard that name in a long time."

The wife came down and Borow shook her hand. "Germ, is this an old friend?"

"Childhood friend of a friend."

Borow shook her hand. "Name's Borow."

"Rachel," the wife said. "You look terrible! Come inside! Get out of the sun!"

Germ led her inside the house. The living room had a dark color, more like dark or olive green with the occasional tree decoration painted onto the walls. The room smelled spruce-like with a bit of cinnamon, fit for a bird like Germ. Borow ran her finger against the fabric of the couch, it was scratchy with a dead leaves scent to it. Borow sat down as Rachael sat in the other. Germ offered Borow a cold glass of water. She sipped it. Ice-cold, a luxury.

"So," Germ said, "how are you doing?"

"Well, I've been doing my thing. Drifting, climbing over things. Had been here and there around the country."

"You travel a lot?"

"All the time."

Germ sat down beside his wife and leaned back. "You've been rooting around old Possum Springs?"

"Yeah, the smoke is thick there from the fire. All I could find out there is a statue, and then I got too hot and got out of there before I dried myself out."

"That's what happens to everyone who wanders in there," Germ said. "You're not the only one. Old residents or urban explorers tried getting in there. They all got choked out from the smoke."

"I was wearing a full-face respirator mask. If the air doesn't get you, the heat will."

"Found any dead bodies?"

The image of the headless husk came to mind. Still half-buried in mud. Still hollow as ever.

"No."

"People die out there breaking into there."

Rachael said, "I wish they wouldn't go out there. People die from falling into sinkhole.

"I wish they don't too, but it's their choice." Germ scratched the edge of his beak. "So, Borow. Is that short for Borowski?"

"Yeah, Mae Borowski."

"Oh yeah, now it's all coming back together. Gregg always talks about you. How is he by the way?"

"Old and tired. Gregg's just destroying himself, and Molly, Molly's just filled with grief. What I know was told by them. Recalling from Gregg, he said that you helped him fished Bea out of the rubble?"

"Excuse me?"

"Twenty years ago, there was a tornado, it sacked the town. Another friend named Beatrice Santello was trapped under the rubble and you helped get her out."

"Oh, yeah. I did. I used the jack from her car to get it out. Was a challenge on its own. It was turned on its top. I got it out and we managed to pull her out. Sad to say that she didn't survive. Her father survived, but things got sadder after that."

The kids upstairs sprinted back and forth above them. Their little feet pound against the floor, making it sound like giant rats were living upstairs.

Borow sipped her coffee. "What was it like before and after the tornado?"

"Before, just any other sleepy town with nothing going on. After, it was like a warzone. No building was left standing save for the church, and that got burned down by vandals. Assholes. The police never found the guy who did it."

Borow asked, "What's your story? What happened on that day?"

"The tornado missed my house completely, my father and I went out to help out with the relief efforts. I went to Maple Street and found Gregg in a state of shock. He looked like hell. He was out of town when it struck."

"According to him, my parents were burned alive."

"So you heard. Yeah, they were trapped in the basement. This happened before the morning got started. We were all caught off-guard."

Borow turned to Rachel. "Where were you when it happened?"

She said, "I wasn't here, I was in Michigan."

Germ said, "Just me, my pop and mother."

Borow asked, "Gregg said he went back to his apartment and found it destroyed, you followed him?"

"Yeah, he took off like a loose cannon. When I got there, there was nothing left of his apartment. Just rubble. He was screaming Angus's name, even checked the video store where he used to work. It took us three days to fish out his body from the rubble. He was trapped in the elevator and got buried. He must've ran out of air long before that, and his asthma didn't help either."

"Damn."

"Gregg even got injured trying to dig him out, but hit something. Either it was a propane tank or what, but all I saw were spikes and Gregg doing backflips. I caught him before he he fell, but he got a piece of glass or something lodged into his eye. I managed to get him to a hospital by hitching a ride with an ambulance. Fuck, he had shitty insurance. $20,000 to get him all fixed up. He ended up moving in to his cousin's place at Bright Harbor after he left the hospital."

"What about his parents?"

"Gone, perished in the tornado as well. Lots of people did, and those who survived didn't stick around thanks to the coal mine fire. They just left. I stayed because, this was my home, and I like the open space."

Borow said nothing.

"So, Mae, or Borow. You're going by nicknames now?"

"Had been for twenty years. Felt a little bit more serious."

"You're way different than I remembered you. You've changed a lot."

"I had amnesia so I remember almost nothing."

"What happened?"

"Bad accident."

"That explains the scars." Then Germ said, "You're married, have kids?"

"Never been married, however, I did have some kids."

"How many?"

"You won't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

Borow wiggled her nose. "About ten children. Three sets of twins and four single births over a twenty year period with seven different fathers."

"Damn, ten?"

"Yeah."

"You look great after having ten."

"I helped out by providing some eggs, so I didn't birth all of them. I needed money."

"You live anywhere?"

"I live in my car, I don't have an address or a permanent job."

Germ glanced out the window for a split second. "So much had changed since in."

"Everything always changes no matter what."

**. . .**

Germ had a spare room up in the attic. Just a simple bed with clean sheets. There was even a small mini-bathroom too, which was a godsend. Borow grabbed her gear from her Tahoe and got settled into the guest room. Rachael was kind enough to wash her dirty laundry. Borow shoved her dirty clothes into a shopping bag and sat it outside the bedroom door, then hopped into the shower. Cooled cinders dropped down onto the shower floor. Brown muck stained the white floor toward the drain. Borow cleaned up the wound some more. It still felt hot and itchy, but at least all of the visible dirt was gone. Borow put a new gauze pad over it. This time she ran a stream of antibiotic ointment across it before taping the pad on.

Borow checked the other scars. The older ones that stretched all around her body. Thick long scars were strewn across her body. She used the mirror and checked the one long scar that runs down across her back. Still rough and puffy. It was a whole lot worse when she first got it. All those stitching. The constant itching. Those scars still itch at times. They had twenty years to heal. Guess they hadn't healed enough.

She closed her eyes for a moment. On one hand she looked like a badass. Not post-apocalyptic movie pretty, but well-versed in her art. What was that art supposed to be? Drifting? Exploring? Picking fights with low-lifes? Borow had a few high-risk moments in her life and came out unscathed. Except this time, and now she has a new scar to remind her that her so-called home tried to kill her.

"This fucking blows," She pointed a finger at her own reflection, "and I hate you for reminding me this shit fucking blows."

Borow grabbed her pocket toothbrush and unfold it. She may hate her old husk, but she still takes good care of it. Too bad she can't bring herself to be selfish.

She grabbed her toothpaste. A little, minty tube. It was flatter than a squashed pancake. Borow tried to squeeze out the last drop. Nothing.

Borow threw it in the trash can. She missed the rim and hit the wall behind the can. "That's it, no more fucking tiny dick tubes!"

She balled her fists, then breathed. "Cool it, Borow. Save it when you need to murder someone."

**. . .**

She then got down to cleaning her gear. Borow took her respirator mask apart and washed each part in the sink, then dried it all with a microfiber tower. Then she took her gun apart and oiled that up too. Maintenance was shut a chore, but it had to be done. Treat the gear right and it will treat you right. The respirator mask had served her well. Borow dropped the cartridges into the trash can and packed the mask and gun away.

She collapsed onto the bed and rested her eyes.

As far as Borow could see her curiosity was satisfied enough. The town had nothing as promised. Warton was a nice bonus to end the trip though. Nice to get to know him. He seemed to have the right idea of living out here. Bright Harbor was getting congested around its inner core, and with rising prices for the cost of living, would it make more sense just to produce some of your own goods and not rely on society as much?

"Not for beer," Borow thought out loud. "Joints for sure, but not beer."

Sleep came minutes later. She couldn't recall what time she slept. It was another dreamless sleep like every other night. Or maybe she had no memory of those dreams. Maybe her brain omitted them before she could recall them. Pictures of the headless corpse came to mind, then the tip of Carrie's tail.

She slept long and hard until she got a knock on the door.

"Borow," Rachael's voice echoed. "You're there?"

Borow opened her eyes. "I'm here. Door's unlocked."

The door cracked open and Rachael stuck her head into the room. "Breakfast is ready."

"Okay, I'll be right down."

Germ left the door open and went back downstairs. Borow stretched her arms and legs and checked the clock. Seven in the morning plus two minutes.

She threw herself out of bed and walked up to the window. The sky was bright and sunny. The south end was smoggy from the smoke, but it was still good. Borow scanned the front yard. There, she found a state police cruiser parked right behind her Tahoe. Germ was out there talking to the state trooper. He was a blue bird with a long beak. Younger than Garfield, but just as experienced. Germ spoke with him for a few more seconds, then shook his hand. Germ walked back to the house as the state trooper got back into his cruiser. Borow watched him drive off. Whatever he wanted, it had to be something serious.

She got her shoes on and started down the stairs. Germ, Rachael, and their three young children sat at the table. The table at the end was open for her. Borow scanned the kids. They looked like they were around eight to twelve years old. Old enough to know a thing or two, yet young enough to still hold a ton of imagination.

Borow sat down at the table. A lot of the food on the table were vegetarian products. Potatoes, soybeans. There was a lot of eggs and omelettes. Borow loaded her plate on them. She needed the protein.

"How was the bed upstairs, Borow?" Rachel asked.

"So comfortable that I lost track of time."

"You slept up there for fourteen hours straight."

"I figured I did," Borow then began to load her plate. Eggs, some scrambled eggs. Anything protein right now. Her muscles were aching from climbing and in need of nourishment.

"So what did the officer want?"

Germ said, "He was asking me if I had seen anyone running around. There's been a murder about a few days ago. Homeless guy was found dead on the road just down the street. His head was-"

"Germ," Rachael pointed her spoon toward their kids. "Honey, not at the table."

Germ cleared his throat. "Anyway, you got any plans, Borow?"

"Go back to Bright Harbor and give an update to my Aunt Molly. Maybe even stop by to see Gregg."

"Any stories for when you two were hanging out during high school?"

"Can't remember. All I know is that there's a picture of me, Gregg, and this fellow named Casey."

Germ said, "Oh yeah, he disappeared before the tornado happened."

Borow took a bite of her eggs. It tasted a hundred times better than restaurant cooking. "You know, Germ, the more I relearn about this old town the more I wish not to remember. It's a former coal-mining town, right?"

"We used to have a lumber mill, a glass factory, and a copper mine, and all of that closed in the 80's."

"Economically impoverished, I figured as much."

"Yup. The old miners and factory workers stuck around, but their children went away. It was on a dive toward a slow, bitter end but the tornado finished it off. Then the coal fire made it permanent. I hadn't heard of anyone from old Possum Springs in fifteen years, until I met you."

"I didn't even knew any of this existed until I bumped into Gregg by accident, and that was a few days ago."

"Poor Gregg, is he still living with his cousin?"

"Down the street, I think."

Germ rubbed his beak. "I should shoot him an email. I don't think he has any social media anymore. Not ever since Angus died."

Borow eyed Rachael, half-expecting her to say something about bring up the concept of death in front of the kids. She'd just sat there, eating her breakfast, paying no attention to Germ.

Rachael then looked up and asked, "How's the city? You said you came from Bright Harbor?"

"I did. The city is crowded and packed full of young people with bright ideas while the leftover baby boomers moan and groan about the world at large. Honestly, people only live there if you're looking into extracting the system. As long as you have money, services are provided for you. Rent, insurance, taxes. Me, I just move around. Sometimes I would leave for a few months to explore some parts of the country. All these states and cities have their own style of culture, but it's the same blueprint as anywhere else. Humanity can only do so much to be original anymore."

"You don't belong anywhere?"

"No, I'm a nomad. I handle my own well-being."

"How does that work?"

"Keep moving, don't stick around. Seen plenty of places and spend a lot of nights in hotels. It had been a few years since I last stayed at a house."

Germ said, "I thought I would've led a life like that if the coal fires overtook my old home. One of these days I'll have to move. I hate doing so but the property taxes are getting higher and the coal fire is getting bigger. Sometimes the wind would change direction and blow coal dust over my area. There would be cinders everywhere for weeks!"

Rachael said, "We've been debating where to move these days."

Borow said, "Move to Wyoming. It's the least populated state in the country and there is plenty of elbow room to spread your wings."

Germ said, "Spread my wings. Hah! You don't need to convince me twice, but I'll need to secure a retirement fund before I make a decision. There isn't anything to do in Wyoming besides farming and hunting."

"Not entirely true. I've been to Wyoming seven years ago. They have the usual businesses and services like any other state."

"Is property taxes low there?"

"It's on the rise there too, but it's still low."

Germ put his fork down. "Well, I'm sticking that on my bucket list then. I just turned 40. Who knows what will happen in the next 40 years."

**. . .**

The Wartons, as Borow had felt, were her kind of people. They can be relied upon when trouble arises and they have the capacity to house a friend in need. This generosity should not be abused. Borow added Germ's address to her Map app on her tablet. Maybe one day she would stop by again. Perhaps once a month. Maybe even pay old Gregg a visit too.

After breakfast Borow asked Germ to step outside with her. The sun was just rising over the trees. Another beautiful morning despite the burning outpost of Hell under their feet. They got far from the house near the barn where the kids wouldn't be in earshot. It was just another barn with an old-fashioned custom workbench. In fact most of the tools seemed to be custom-made. That explained the crude furnace in the background.

"Something on your mind, Borow?" Germ asked.

"When I was out there roaming what is left of Possum Springs, I found a body stuck in the mud. Half-mummified without a head."

"Not surprised, there's been multiple murders like that. There's been a serial killer going around here for twenty years."

"Twenty years?"

"It started not long after the coal fire. Headless corpses started turning up. Bodies cut up, dismembered. The usual. Some of them are even found with dried bones. The police had been thinking the victims were cannibalized."

"Any information on the victims?"

"The first few victims were homeless, then drifters after the town went away. They always get murdered around the last week of October and the first week of November. It's always consistent and the kill count never gets beyond twenty." Germ eyed his house. "Here's the thing. Whoever was killing them knew what he was doing. All of the bodies found were doused with an ammonia-based glass cleaner to dissolve DNA."

"What's the minimum victim count?"

"Gotta be at least three. It only reached twenty about ten years ago. There had been an uptick in the unemployment rate during that time."

"You're concerned that this killer would-"

"No," Germ said. "All of the victims for the past twenty years are outsiders. I bet the killer is someone I know from way back. But that list is getting lower and lower. There's just a handful of old people left living up in the hills. The state is planning on repurposing much of Deep Hollow county into farmland to feed the growing cities."

"Is that a problem to you?"

"No, I'll get more land out of it, though I will have to start farming that new land. I don't know if I can profit from it. I can only get hybrid seeds in the market, which means I can't use last years seeds to plant because they're sterile, which means I have to keep buying from them. I hate it all. It's a shame to see all those trees go." Germ shrugged. "Oh well, all the crops are going to feed people in the end so nobody's going to starve."

"Typical capitalism," Borow glanced at the furnace. "Did the police ever tried catching the killer?"

"All the time, one of the Sheriff's deputies was bold enough to disguise himself as a drifter in an effort to catch the killer. Didn't work, he got picked up by his colleagues from mistaken identity. It was hilarious. Sheriff Garfield docked his pay for pulling that stunt."

"Damn."

Germ cracked one of his shoulders. "Nice been talking to you, Borow. Good to see an old friend stopping by. I'll let the authorities know about the body. I got a favor to pull anyway. What are you going to do?"

"Drive back to Bright Harbor and give Gregg and Molly an update."

The two shook hands. "Take care of yourself, Borow."

"I always do."

**. . .**

Borow tossed her clean laundry and gear into the back of the Tahoe and drove off. As she was making her way toward the highway she came across a field of old tombstones. It was a graveyard, or what was left of one. The prairie grass and trees were overshadowing it and some parts had sunken into the earth. Borow drove passed the rustic gate. Plumes of coal smoke were spewing out over the graveyard. Had the fire spilled underneath this lonely graveyard too? Borow slowed down by the gate. It had been padlocked shut and plastered with those _Keep Out _signs. Zoned off from the public just like the old town. All of those old memories were burned away.

It took her four hours to get back to Possum Springs. It was just about to turn noon when she reached the city limit. The drive back was just as uneventful as the drive toward the old town. Same rest stops. Same roads. Nothing had changed overnight. She drove back to the apartment complex and shown the gate guard her ID. He let her in without question.

Borow parked, killed the engine, and walked up to Molly's door. She pressed the doorbell with her knuckle. A minute later the door unlocked and opened.

"Mae," Molly said. "You're back!"

She looked a little more livelier than before, but still had some seriousness. She had been a cop for most of her life after all. Borow gave her a hug and Molly flinched. "Oh, that's a surprise. A hug from you."

"No surprises from what I found."

The two cats sat down at the usual sofas. Molly passed Borow a diet coke. She took it, popped the tab and sipped it.

"So is it exactly as how I described?"

"And then some," Borow said. "The smoke was so thick that I could barely see my own hand."

"You did not went into the town, did you?"

"I did."

"Mae," Molly said. "It's full of sinkholes. You could've fell right on-"

"Don't you think I know that? I was wearing a full-face respirator the whole time and the heat was more of a threat than sinkholes. Besides, all the sinkholes I found were old and filled in with earth. I got up to where the old church was and found a statue. Someone chipped off the plaque that was on it."

"There had been vandals in the days after the tornado."

"That explains the graffiti I found over the old trolley tunnel praising the town's death."

Molly asked, "Did you find the Wartons?"

"Germ, as Jeremy calls himself, is still living there and now has a wife and kids. He's going to reconnect with Gregg at some point." Borow sipped her pop. "I also drove by the old cemetery. It's just prairie grass and sinkholes now."

"Did you explore the old glass factory?"

"No, it's just too hot. I got a good look at it from afar though. The roof seemed to have caved in. I do plan on checking the cabins in the wilderness at some point. According to the search engine maps they seemed to be abandoned."

"Old people live out there. They were unaffected by the tornado but no one hadn't heard from them since."

Borow said, "I wouldn't be surprised if there's a dead body in some of them. Germ stated that he's been on his own there and hadn't seen anybody else around for months at a time."

Molly sipped her own pop and sat it down. "Mae, can I ask you a question?"

"Do you want an answer?"

Molly stared at her with a poker face. "You ever thought about settling down and start a family?"

Borow sipped her coke. "Sorry, what was that?"

"You ever thought about getting married? Having kids?"

Carrie's face popped out of the ether, holding still in Borow's head, and then it was gone as fast as it came. "I would say the same about you."

"I have my reasons."

"And so do I, we have something in common." Borow sat her coke down. "Okay, how about you tell me this. At any point since you first saw me, are you sure I'm the niece you so remember?"

"Yes, I told you. That notched ear! That stare! That's you! Why are so insistent that you're not my niece?!"

"Explain to me how our relationship went before."

Molly blinked, shifting in her chair. "You're always staying out late. Always breaking things. I had to take you home and you would resist, saying I arrested you to anyone who asked how was your night."

Borow said, "That being said, if I was your niece, then why would I even bring you back here. I would've left you to rot and relish in the fact that you're done. The niece you know never matured and grew up. She is as dead as her parents. As far as I'm concerned, you're just kicking a dead horse."

"Mae-"

Borow pulled out her knife and called it down on the coffee table. The tip burst through the wood, giving off a thud that sent Molly deep into her chair. Her eyes went wide, clutching at her chest like her heart was about to explode.

"Don't _Mae _me!" Borow shot a finger toward the door. "You know what I found in the ditch just by the town?! Do you know that there are dead bodies popping up around the outskirts of the town?! People are still being murdered from left to right for the past twenty years. Could that killer be your niece, since she had every nerve to pummel Andy Cullen with a bat unprovoked?!"

Molly dug her nails into the arm of her recliner as she clutched her chest. She took deep breaths as she hunched over. Borow through up her hands. "Goddamnit."

She got up and reached for the landline.

"No," Molly said. "I'm good!"

"Fine, to hell with you!"

**. . .**

Borow stormed out of the apartment. She stood at the doorstep for a moment, then pound her fist against the side of the building. Every nerve in her body yearned to throw that knife straight at her. The insistence, the persuasion, was uncalled for. Molly was just a broken record. A broken record that needed to be removed.

Borow pinched her nose. The heat was picking up again. Hotter than last time. She needed a joint.

She sat down at the curb of the apartment complex and pulled off her tank top. Borow then fumbled through her pockets for a blunt and lit it. She took one long drag, held it in, then let it out. She held the lighter in her hand, digging a nail into the hemp wrapping as if it was a stress ball.

Borow listened to the cars driving by. There wasn't any people around. Why wouldn't there be. It was hot as it was humid. Everyone was inside enjoying their air conditioners including the damn old people who lived here. "Can't handle the extremes?" She said to no one in particular. "Well fuck you."

She took another puff of the joint. "I spent twenty years moving around, avoiding shit that needs avoiding, and exploring shit that needs exploring. No wonder I don't remember my history. All of these _loved ones _wanted to make me into something I'm not. Well, now they're either dead and dying and I'm still going strong. I'm getting old but I'm not getting frail.

"Why the hell do I even stay here anyway? Stay here in this rust belt state? I should be moving west. Nobody gives a lick where you used to live. Maybe I would go to Wyoming, and if that doesn't work, I can go to Alaska. A bunch of trees over my head is a whole lot better than all this concrete." She spreads out both arms. "It's all going to burn, I just know it. If the ocean doesn't get Bright Harbor, the people will, and the law can't stop them. Might not happen today, tomorrow, or in ten years, but it will happen. Everybody has all this time to explore this world they call Earth and they don't know it will soon be all destroyed."

Borow closed her eyes. The last of the steam whistled out of her ears. Images flooded her mind. Gregg, Germ, even Carrie. Heck, Carrie lived not so far from here. Maybe she could pay her a visit and see the tabby's tail wag. Borow breathed in another puff.

A hair stood on the back of her neck. Borow turned. Molly had her hand out to reach for her shoulder, but jerked back.

"You're not going to arrest me like last time, Mall Cop?"

Molly said, "I'm retired, Mae."

"Doesn't stop you from carrying a gun."

"I have my reasons."

Borow snuffed out her joint and flicked it into the nearby trash can. "Look, I'm sorry. That was the second time I got worked up for being called out."

"Who was the first?"

"Gregg. I thought he was a member of a rival gang. I robbed a bagman's cache minutes before I bumped into that old fox."

"You robbed a gang member?"

"One of their couriers."

"You didn't kill him, did you?"

"I knocked him out by slamming my car door into him."

Molly asked, "Well, what did you do to Gregg?"

"I asked where he lived, he gave me his address. I tied him up, took him to his house, and interrogated him under gunpoint. I believed him when he gave me the brief rundown in the motel's parking lot, but I wanted to be sure. You pretty much confirmed his story to an extent while Jeremy added in more details."

"You wanted to live a hard life."

"I have to. I know things you don't. Know things you don't understand. You see hints of the mess this country is in every single day. I've mingled with enough people, rich and poor, from coast to coast, to know what is really going on. It isn't all just ideas. I know what is really going on in society for a fact. It ain't what you think it is, that's for sure."

Molly sat down beside her. She reached out and traced her finger down one of the thick scars. "How did you get all these scars."

"I don't know, I can't remember."

She then pressed her hand against her side. "What about this?"

"Rebar. I reached down to tie my shoe and next thing I know the ground open up underneath me. It wasn't that bad. I stitched it up."

"You should've gone to-"

Borow grabbed Molly's hand. "Please, don't. I'm getting old just like you."

She eased her grip. Molly inspected her hand, flexing her fingers. "No insurance?"

"None. I never paid a single repeating bill in my entire life."

A full minute of silence went by. The wind had picked up again, giving Borow that nice, cool breeze. A sweat trailed down her cheek. She reached up and wiped it with her tank top. "By the way, Deep Hollow County Sheriff Garfield says hi."

"You bumped into him?"

"He bumped into me, and he only knows me through you. He told me about the serial killer. You know anything about it?"

"It was a cold case. I hadn't been keeping tabs on it since I left. I didn't know the killer's still out there. Who are, or were, the victims?"

"Drifters, outsiders. Germ is betting it is someone he knows. Someone from the old town. Bodies were decapitated, eaten. I know because I found a body half-buried in the ditch with teeth marks on the ribs."

"You reported it?"

"I let Germ know, he's going to take care of it. At this point, I'm not going to worry about it. However," Borow picked at the bandage on her side, "I need to get this bandage changed."

"I have some gauze under the sink."

"I guess you owe me a favor."

Molly reached out and pulled the bandage off. "Your stitchwork looks professionally done."

"I'm very thorough."

"It's red and covered in puss. Here, let's get it cleaned up."

Borow helped Molly up to her feet. The old cat eyed her niece up and down. "You're in better shape than I last saw you, at least."

Borow said nothing.

"What?"

"Long story, I'll tell you some other time. Just, thank you, for not dying on me. I may be an asshole and a hothead, but I will go to the ends of the earth to cure you of any rare, incurable disease."

"So you have a heart after all."

"I do."

"By the way: next time you're throwing a fit, would you please not stick a knife through furniture?"

"I only use knives to drive my point across. I rather to use a mahogany baseball bat."

"Ah! That's the Mae I know!"

Borow seize Molly by the arm. "Sure you do."

She helped guide her aunt to her apartment. Borow glanced over her shoulder. There were a lot of things that still need answering. The body, the likes of Carrie, and whatever's surrounding that town. For now, she was satisfied. Satisfied? That's a surprise. Borow couldn't remember the last time she was satisfied with anything at all.

There was still more work to do, but at least she didn't have to go through it alone anymore.


End file.
